Monday, September 05, 2011

*cough cough* *cough cough*

It is funny peculiar being ill without a named reason why.  Much easier is it to say "this is what is wrong with me and this is how I sort it out."  Certainly I know Work would be happier if I could name it and shame it.

I can't though.  And while it is frustrating for me not being able to pinpoint exactly what is wrong with me and how to get better (Doc is quite good in that he has given me lots of info on why this has happened and what is going on in my worn out body) it doesn't help that I have the very demanding expectations of Work hanging over my head.

Understandably, they are not in the business of supporting burdensome people such as myself.  I feel ridiculously feeble saying that never in my life have I ever had this, it isn't old thyroid boy kicking off again although readings show that is borderline!  I've never had a sick note, I've never been off with anything more serious than the flu (once when I was 16 and again in February when I had the swine flu which is, according to Doc, partly to blame for what is going on.)

I know plenty of people who have skivved off on dubious afflictions and more often than not ended up doing their work for them knowing full well there was damn all wrong.  Luckily colleagues noticed how run down I had been, how tired and exhausted looking I was - too polite to say until I was signed off and then it was "well you know I was wondering how long she'd last  like that.  Plus the nature of the beast means no one is left doing anything more than they have to.

Doc likes to repeat that I am not an infinite resource.  I have been for so long though, I've needed to be.  In fact I've realised how like my Dad I am - we want to be doing things, we want to be productive, forward thinking, busy.

I don't know how to slow down and stop for a while.

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